We were gathered in the castle courtyard—one of the two training grounds, and the larger of the pair. Spanning a hectare, it was broad enough to house both an archery range and a horse track without either feeling constrained. The open space gave the impression that something important was meant to happen here, something that required room to unfold.

  As promised, the heroes had come to test their newfound power. It was a grand affair in intent, if not yet in spectacle—the first steps of the saviors of our world, taken quietly, before the eyes of only those who needed to know.

  My uncle, the king, was present, of course. But because the existence of the heroes I had summoned was still a secret, the gathering remained small by royal standards. Sixty knights, ten from each of the six knightly brotherhoods stood ready, accompanied by their six captains and members of the royal family.

  Apothecary Donovan attended as well, alongside three other healers. I was there with three fellow mages, all of us sworn to secrecy. A dozen of the castle’s stable hands had also been mobilized, tasked with assisting in the heroes’ horseback practice.

  “Lady Celestia, isn’t that already a lot?” Lord Yuuto asked, his voice sheepish as he surveyed the courtyard.

  “Nonsense, Lord Yuuto,” I replied. “Once those who will fight are formally announced, you can expect crowds five—perhaps ten—times this size, nobles arriving daily.”

  The color drained slightly from his face.

  From my earlier conversations with Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku, I had already begun to understand them all. They were good people—earnest, kind—but unused to attention on this scale. The only exceptions were Lady Shizuku, and Lords Haruto, Sora, and Kazuki, all of whom had been involved in competitions back in their world and were more familiar with the weight of watching eyes.

  “Alright, you heard the lady, Yuu,” Lord Shunsuke said, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Stop complaining.”

  “Yuu’s fine,” Lord Arthur cut in, nodding his head toward the courtyard entrance.

  At the doorway, Lord Vi was leaning back using body weight to counter the one’s pulling him. Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku were both tugging on Lord Vi, each pulling an arm as if afraid to let go. They had woken him early—an act that clearly did nothing to improve his disposition—and the announcement that horseback training would come first had only deepened his sour mood. He resisted with the stubbornness of someone wronged by fate itself.

  I honestly did not know what to make of him. He was as contradictory as his many titles. At times, he displayed startling brilliance and a keen intellect; at others, he behaved like a complete idiot. What he was doing now firmly belonged to the latter category.

  “Still better than Vi,” Lord Arthur muttered, though with a slight smile as the stalemate dragged on.

  That was when Lady Anna appeared from behind and, without hesitation, seized Lord Vi by the ear. The sharp yelp that followed broke the deadlock instantly.

  With everyone finally assembled, Captain Aldric stepped forward.

  “Alright, everyone,” he said, wearing a small but confident smile. “For your first lesson: how to ride a horse.”

  At his signal, the stable hands led several horses into the courtyard. The female members of the group stiffened, their unease immediately apparent. In their world, horses were something one read about or saw from a distance—never something one touched, let alone mounted.

  The castle’s horses were bred for war. They were fearless, powerful, and notoriously difficult to handle. Their sheer size alone was intimidating, towering over most of the women. Fortunately, one of the stable hands had the foresight to bring three smaller mounts—practice horses accustomed to beginners—which eased the tension, if only slightly.

  I watched as everyone clustered around the holding pens, listening with studious attention to Captain Aldric’s instructions. Everyone, that is, except Lord Vi. He sat cross-legged on the ground a short distance away, his head propped up by his right hand, eyes slowly drifting shut as sleep crept up on him without resistance.

  Since my role would come later, I decided I might as well intervene. I approached him.

  “Lord Vi,” I said.

  One eye—his left—cracked open just enough to acknowledge my presence.

  “I really think you should pay attention,” I continued. “Even if you are not one of the heroes, riding a mount has many practical uses. In this world, it is a skill that is required if you want to move from place to place. And even for those who are truly skilled, learning to ride properly can take at least a week.”

  His unfocused gaze settled on me, glassy and indifferent. Then he lifted his free hand and covered his mouth. He yawned, wide and unashamed. I was honestly impressed that he was still capable of functioning as a human being at all.

  “Do I have to?” he asked languidly, lifting a hand to cover another deep yawn.

  It was my first time dealing with someone so thoroughly unmotivated. I had given my word that I would help him. Even though he had insisted I didn’t need to, that only made me want to try harder. As I considered my options, it occurred to me that perhaps a bit of incentive might push him forward.

  I glanced toward the smaller horses being led in slow circles, then back at him. An idea began to take shape—petty, perhaps, but effective.

  “You do realize,” I said casually, “that Captain Aldric has a habit of assigning extra drills to anyone he deems inattentive. Very thorough drills.”

  His eye twitched.

  “And,” I added, lowering my voice slightly, “if you perform poorly today, you’ll likely be paired with the largest mount. He believes adversity builds character.”

  That finally earned me a reaction.

  Lord Vi rose to his feet—though rose might have been generous. He pushed himself upright with visible effort, as if gravity itself had taken a personal interest in keeping him grounded. I smiled, small and triumphant. It wasn’t much, but it was movement, and with him, that counted as a victory.

  He leaned back, one hand braced against his lower back. A series of faint creaks and cracks followed as he stretched. I winced despite myself. Just how out of shape was he?

  “Alright,” he said at last, standing straight again. “How about a bet?”

  If he were to lose some weight, I thought distantly, his height—unremarkable but not short—might actually make him stand out, if only a little.

  Tilting my head, I regarded him with curiosity. “What did you have in mind?”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “I bet that, before lunch,” he said simply, “I can ride the biggest, meanest horse you’ve got.”

  Oh?

  I had not expected that.

  “Are you certain you wish to take that bet?” I asked, confidence coloring my voice. “My conditions are rather strict.”

  To my amazement, he nodded without hesitation. “Then, if I win, you’ll do what I say, when I say.”

  “That’s fine,” he added, rubbing at his eyes, entirely unconcerned. “And if I win, you won’t bother me for the rest of forever.”

  “That I cannot do,” I replied at once. Even if his chances were slim, I was not foolish enough to agree to that. “The most I can offer is a day.”

  “Then lower your condition to a day as well,” he grumbled.

  I considered it, then nodded. The terms were fair. With our agreement settled, I caught the attention of one of the nearby stable hands.

  “Roland,” I called.

  He turned and approached us, slightly shorter than Lord Vi, with brown hair and dark eyes. He bowed politely.

  “Yes, milady?” he asked. “How may I be of service?”

  “Bring out Willowbrook,” I said casually.

  His reaction was immediate confusion—and when he spoke again, hesitation crept into his voice. “Are you sure, milady? He has not been broken yet.”

  I met his gaze and nodded. “It will be fine.”

  Still looking uncertain, Roland bowed nonetheless and headed toward the stables. Several minutes passed before the sound reached us—heavy hooves striking soil, a horse’s furious snort, and the strained shouts of men trying to keep control. Roland returned with two other stable hands, all three struggling to lead a massive ebony warhorse into the courtyard.

  The beast, from head to foot, stood well over two meters tall. Its legs were thick and powerful, hooves striking the ground with force as it thrashed against its restraints. Each movement set rippling muscles beneath its dark coat, its strength made visible with every violent pull. Rage burned in its eyes, wild and untamed.

  Despite the danger, everyone’s attention was drawn to it. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even those accustomed to warhorses watched in silence. The stable hands secured the horse a fair distance away from the others on a small pen—and everyone else a measure of safety.

  “So,” I said, allowing myself a smug smile as I turned to him. “Lord Vi.” I gestured toward the towering beast. “I believe the bet is now underway. Or would you prefer to forfeit?”

  He shot me a sour look, then grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “It’s a horse, not a woman.”

  Of course, the king noticed.

  With a wide grin, the king raised his voice to command everyone’s attention. “Everyone, that is Willowbrook. One of our newest additions to the stables. As such, he is still without a master. If any of you can ride him properly within two days, he shall be yours.”

  A cheer erupted from the knights, their excitement rippling outward and energizing the would-be heroes. The girls stared at the horse with open fear, their apprehension impossible to hide, while a good portion of the boys straightened—eyes gleaming—as they took the king’s words not as a warning, but as a challenge.

  “I wager that none of them will manage it,” said Knight-Captain Brandon Bedford. He stood nearly as tall as Captain Godwin, though his features were sharper, more severe when compared to Godwin’s roguish grin. Despite that, Brandon was known for his kindness and easy laughter.

  Beside him Knight Captain Elias Sandor stood shaking his head. A full head taller than Captain Aldric, he was one of the tallest knights in the kingdom. Both captains had just arrived this morning, called by the queen. Both have also been notified of my success and the situation.

  “Oh, that’s a bit harsh,” Captain Godwin replied with a chuckle. “At least say they won’t last five seconds.”

  Their remarks drew a mix of jeers and cheers from the knights and servants alike. Laughter rippled through the courtyard, though it did little to ease the concern etched onto the faces of the parents watching from the side.

  The queen, however, remained untroubled. “It is a good thing for them,” she said calmly. “Pain builds character. And the healers among them will have someone to practice on in case of injuries.”

  Not everyone looked convinced.

  Once everyone had learned the correct riding posture, the lesson progressed to walking the horses. Those who had finished practicing on the smaller amounts transitioned to the knights’ horses—still taller, still imposing. Few things could prepare one for the sudden height, or for the living rhythm beneath them: the steady rise and fall, the breath and pulse of the horse as it moved into a trot for the first time.

  Some leaned back instinctively, hands clenching around the saddle as they struggled to find their balance. In time, they would learn to canter, and after that, to gallop—but for now, this was enough.

  Yet with a prize now openly declared, restlessness crept through the group. Lord Takumi’s circle in particular could not seem to sit still. Even as they practiced, their eyes kept drifting toward the massive warhorse in the distance.

  Then, suddenly, they pointed.

  “What’s he doing!?” one of them shouted, drawing everyone’s attention toward Willowbrook.

  I turned—and to my astonishment, Lord Vi was already there, standing directly in front of the horse.

  The courtyard snapped into alertness. Willowbrook let out a sharp, aggressive neigh, muscles bunching as he thrashed against the restraints, offended by the presence before him. Even I hesitated, as did the other mages. A prized warhorse versus fragile human limbs—it was not a decision one made lightly.

  Lady Anna froze, breath caught in her throat. Lord Kazehiko shouted his son’s name as the beast reared, its front hooves crashing down mere inches from Lord Vi’s face.

  And yet, Lord Vi did not move.

  He simply stood there, staring at the horse as though it were little more than an inconvenience. Fearlessness, yes—but this bordered on idiocy taken to its extreme. I clenched my teeth and made my decision, breaking into a run.

  But—

  After only a few steps, I slowed.

  Then I stopped.

  So did everyone else.

  The spectacle unfolding before us defied sense. The thrashing horse stilled. The rage in its movements ebbed away as if drained by an unseen hand. Willowbrook lowered his head, breath heavy but no longer violent, posture shifting—almost deferential.

  Lord Vi lifted a hand.

  Slowly, deliberately, he stroked the side of the horse’s neck. Willowbrook did not flinch. Instead, he leaned into the touch, a low huff escaping his nostrils.

  A stunned silence fell over the courtyard.

  With practiced ease, Lord Vi began removing the harnesses restraining the horse. One by one, the straps came loose. He opened the pen gate.

  Miraculously, the horse did not try to run. It stayed exactly where it was, calm and obedient, as though it was waiting for permission.

  Then—contrary to every assumption his posture and earlier lethargy had suggested—Lord Vi moved. In one smooth, fluid motion, he placed a foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself onto Willowbrook’s back with surprising agility.

  Before anyone could react, he gave a command.

  Willowbrook surged forward, exploding into a full gallop. He cleared a fence in one powerful leap and tore across the courtyard, hooves pounding like thunder against stone and earth.

  Gasps rippled through the onlookers. Everyone else stood frozen, heart racing—in my case, not with fear this time, but with something dangerously close to awe.

  Lord Vi took two full laps around the courtyard. Occasionally, he veered off course, urging Willowbrook over fences and scattered obstacles with reckless ease. From the way the horse tossed his head and surged forward willingly, it was clear he was enjoying himself. Despite running at a full gallop, the ride did not last long—power and speed devouring distance with startling efficiency.

  Eventually, Lord Vi guided Willowbrook back to his pen. He dismounted smoothly, led the horse inside, and secured him once more by the reins. Only then did he turn and stroll back toward us as though nothing remarkable had occurred.

  Everyone converged on him at once.

  He stopped in front of me, pointed to himself, and said simply, “I win.”

  Then he turned and began walking toward the castle.

  I would be lying if I said I was not irritated. Still, I was an adult—and adults accepted their losses with grace. Or at least, with restraint.

  “Where are you going!?” Lord Vi’s father called after him.

  “Bed,” Lord Vi replied. It was less an answer and more a languid whisper.

  He had taken only a few more steps when his father seized the back of his collar.

  “Eughk!” Lord Vi protested, rubbing at his throat. “Father, really—that was rude. Weren’t you taught not to pull people’s collars?”

  “Everyone was worried, Ae!” Lady Reika exclaimed, her relief quickly turning into frustration.

  “Forgive me if I seem rude!” his father thundered. “I have this new feeling—pride in my son—but unfortunately, it is being completely overshadowed by all this rage!”

  Lord Vi yawned.

  His father swung a hand toward the back of his head, but Lord Vi slipped out of reach with infuriating ease.

  “Where did you learn to ride like that?” Lord Arthur asked, disbelief and awe evident in his voice.

  “I grew up on a farm,” Lord Vi replied lazily. “Besides horses, I rode cows, water buffalo, pigs, goats, and a dog.”

  “Yeah,” Lord Trayn muttered, “half of those things aren’t meant to be ridden.”

  “So says you—Argk!” Lord Vi cut himself off as his father grabbed his ear and twisted.

  Eventually, after a thorough scolding delivered at close range, Lord Vi was exiled to the sidelines while the others resumed their training. He wandered over to a patch of shade, sat down on the dirt without ceremony, and within moments had slumped over—dozing off once more, as if he had not just conquered the wildest horse in the stables.

  I watched him from afar, equal parts exasperated and unsettled.

  Whatever Lord Vi truly was, it was becoming increasingly clear that he was far more than he appeared.